


How We Survive

by assholemurphy



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, Partners in Crime au, Queerplatonic relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 06:53:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4512147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assholemurphy/pseuds/assholemurphy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mbege and Murphy are partners in crime working for Nygel to pay off their debts. Their job generally involves breaking and entering, assault, and kidnapping, not that they really mind. It’s their life now, it’s what they do and they don’t really have a choice in it. The crimes are easy but the keeping sane stuff is a little harder, so they cling to each other, the only constant they’ve ever had, and somehow they manage to survive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How We Survive

**Author's Note:**

> Queerplatonic Murphy/Mbege is everything. Also, Murphy is a dick and references Nygel's practice of using children to pay off their parents deaths, which may be uncomfortable, so like, that's a very brief thing that happens.
> 
> Done for Underappreciated Ships Month on tumblr.

“You know, when she said the place was a dump, I thought she was just being rude,” Murphy grumbled as he got out of Mbege's Jeep. The house in front of them was two stories tall and it looked like it could have been nice, if it wasn't surrounded by broken cars and weeds that stood almost as tall as Murphy himself.

“It could be worse. Remember the Texas job?” Mbege asked, pulling a backpack out from the backseat and slinging it over his shoulder before he came to stand next to Murphy. “At least we're still in the state this time.”

“And no cows.”

“No cows,” Mbege agreed with a quiet laugh. He fiddled with the strap of his bag, asking, “You think he's asleep?”

“It's three in the morning,” Murphy shrugged, opening the front gate and holding it open for Mbege. “If he isn't now, he will be soon.”

“Oh, witty one liners. I love this part,” Mbege teased.

“Shut up,” Murphy laughed as they made their way up the nearly overgrown sidewalk, watching the ground to make sure he didn't stumble into anything. “Why are we here again? I stopped paying attention after we got the address.”

“The guy inside, I didn't get a name, but he owes Nygel money, doesn't want to pay it, doesn't think she can do anything about it, we're here to prove him wrong,” Mbege explained, watching as Murphy pulled out a small lock pick kit from his pocket. “You gotten any better at that, or should I get comfortable?”

“Fuck off. I'm great at this.” Murphy rolled his eyes, getting the picks positioned where he wanted them while Mbege watched the yard, ready to bolt at any sign of trouble.

It wasn't their first break in, and it wasn't their first kidnapping, they'd been doing this long enough for Murphy to only need a few seconds to get the door unlocked, but Mbege still teased him about it. It was playful, not a real dig at Murphy's skills, and it wasn't like Murphy didn't dig at him just as often, though usually about less criminal things, like the reality TV shows he was always watching.

The door clicked and Murphy smirked, standing back, “After you, dear.”

“You just want me to go first in case there's a guy with a baseball bat waiting for us.”

“Actually, I was attempting to be polite. See, it's a thing that people do when they're trying not to be complete jackasses. You should try it sometime.” Murphy joked, entering the house first and holding out his hands as if to show that there was nothing to fear. No weapon wielding house owners or alarm systems, they were good to go.

“Being polite to you? Please,” Mbege snorted, gently shoving Murphy. “Come on, I'd like to get this done before sunrise.”

The house was dark, save for the glow of the fish tank light above a TV set that looked at least thirty years old. The living room wasn't much better than the front yard, from what Murphy could see in the dim light. Pizza boxes and clothing mingled with cigarette butts and liquor bottles, disorder reigned and the smell of stale beer lingered in the air.

“Huh, I didn't know we were going after Martha Stewart,” Mbege muttered, making his way through the mess, a snickering Murphy behind him.

“What's this guy in debt to Nygel for, anyway?” Murphy asked, searching for the staircase. He was assuming that the guy was going to be in the master bedroom, and that was generally upstairs.

“Gambling,” Mbege huffed, “It was his own fault, so don't feel bad for him. It's not like last time.”

Murphy fell quiet, understanding. Nygel was head of a lot of crime rings in the states, most of them located in California, but her empire stretched from border to border, and nobody got out of paying their debts. You either paid or you ended up dead and then someone else would have to pay. Not even death could get you out of it, something Mbege and Murphy knew personally.

Murphy's mother had run up a serious debt when she was alive, her addiction driving her to seek out Nygel, promising to pay her back. Nygel had let her, knowing that eventually she'd get her money, she always did, and when Murphy's mother passed, the debt fell on his shoulders. The only thing she'd ever given him, aside from the bruises he'd worn as a child. Now he was left with a huge debt and several scars, all thanks to his mother's addiction, but he didn't blame her. If his father hadn't died, if he hadn't killed him, then she never would have started using. The drugs had made her happy, so Murphy hadn't complained, even when she passed out on the couch and he'd had to pack his own lunch from whatever he could find in the fridge, which wasn't much, usually, his father's benefits going towards alcohol rather than bills. But he'd gotten by, him and Mbege, both.

Mbege had always been there with Murphy since they were children, his father was also a soldier, but unlike Murphy's, he'd died while deployed. Mbege had found himself in debt when he'd been approached by people who claimed they had the money to make his mother better, and he'd accepted. He was only sixteen at the time, but it was a chance to save his mother and he took it without hesitation. In the end, her medical bills had been paid for, but there wasn't a treatment for what she had, and she passed, leaving Mbege alone with a large amount of debt to pay off. Life had never been easy for him, but he'd survived, and he was going to survive this, too. It was just going to take some time to pay back what he owed. It had given him a few more months with her, and for that it was worth it.

He and Murphy had been together since as long as they could remember, best friends and then something a little bit more, but they could never really place it until they'd gotten older. They weren't in love, but they did love each other, more than anyone else, and there was no one either of them could even consider being with. They were in this together, and they would always be.

“Hey, Murphy, you wanna stop daydreaming and come help me or what?” Mbege called out in a harsh whisper, not wanting to wake anyone up. “We do have a job to do, remember?”

Murphy nodded, climbing up the stairs quickly, giving Mbege a sheepish smile, “Sorry, boss. Got a bit sidetracked.”

“I noticed,” Mbege said, used to his spacing out. It happened often, sometimes at the most inopportune times, but Murphy tended to snap out of it pretty easily. “He should be in this room, and Nygel said he lived alone, so we should be good to go.” Mbege handed Murphy a rag and nodded towards the door, fishing out a pair of zip ties from his bag.

“Chloroform?” Murphy asked with a raised eyebrow, “A little old school, don't you think?”

“Nygel said he'd managed to get away from Conner and Miles, so I'm assuming it would be easier this way. However, if you want to draw this out more than it has to be, then be my guest. I could wake him up for you, if you want?”

Murphy rolled his eyes and snarked, “I love it when you talk to me like I'm an idiot.”

“Don't be such a brat,” Mbege scolded, turning the doorknob. “You knock him out, I'll tie him up, we can carry him out and be done with it.”

“We could also throw him out the window and save time.”

Mbege snorted, “Defenestration. I like it.” Mbege nudged the door, letting it swing in slowly, hoping not too make too much noise. He smiled to himself and slipped inside, Murphy behind him. “See? Easy as-”

A low growl cut him off and his eyes widened. He turned around slowly, shaking his head, “Fuck.”

“No, please don't tell me-”

“There is a dog,” Mbege confirmed.

“There is not a dog,” Murphy groaned, despite being able to see that, yes, there was in fact a dog. A giant German Sheppard stood between them and the bed, growling and baring it's teeth. Nothing could ever go smoothly, could it?

“Yes, there is. We're literally looking right at it.”

“She never told us anything about a dog,” Murphy hissed, the rag falling from his hand. He had considered how he would die several times in the past, but eaten alive by Marmaduke was not one of his preferred scenarios.

“Well, if it makes you feel better, I don't think she told the dog anything about us, either,” Mbege told him, slowly bringing his bag in front of him.

“What the fuck, man? Don't fucking move!” Murphy whispered as the dog stood up, looking like it was about to lunge at them.

“Shh! Keep it distracted, I've got a solution, just, don't let it eat us.” Mbege ordered, unzipping the bag. The dog let out a loud bark when he did and the figure on the bed stirred, slowly waking up. “Murphy!”

“I know, I know! Okay, uh, nice doggy?” The dog snarled at him, but Murphy had gotten what he wanted, the dog's attention was on him, not Mbege. “Okay, not a nice doggy. Fine. I'm a cat person anyway,” Murphy huffed, watching Mbege from the corner of his eye, wishing he'd hurry up with whatever it was he was doing. “Please don't eat my partner, I kind of need him. Don't eat me, either, I kind of like being, well, anything but dog food,” Murphy continued talking to the dog, feeling a little ridiculous since he doubted Kujo could understand him or was even interested in what he had to say.

Mbege pulled a ziplock bag out of his backpack and opened it, pulling out a dark, quarter sized ball and holding it out, waiting for the dog to notice it. Once the dog did, he tossed it in the corner of the room, the dog letting out another loud bark and chasing after it, snapping it up and swallowing it.

“Dog treats? 'Begs, I don't think that's going to work,” Murphy muttered, watching as the dog began to come back to them.

“It's okay, give it a second. It's gonna make him sleep.” Mbege assured him. He was prepared for just about any situation, he'd learned the hard way that it was better to have more stuff than you needed than to find yourself needing something you didn't have and being completely screwed.

Murphy grimaced, the dog's eyes drooping closed, “Sleep? Like-”

“Like go to sleep and wake up well rested in the morning, ready to tackle his day job.” Mbege nodded, “Got the pills from the vets' office when I went with Sterling to get Nygel's dog fixed.”

Murphy watched as the dog curled up, falling asleep by the foot of the bed. “Nice.”

Mbege opened his mouth to say something else, but a light flooded the room, drawing his attention to the man in the bed, who was now wide awake and reaching for the bedside table's drawer. He had barely touched it when Mbege's fist connected with the side of his face, sending him back into the headboard with a groan of pain. “And I had hoped this would be easy.”

“Nothing's ever easy. It wouldn't be as much fun,” Murphy told him, scrambling to help.

The man was half asleep, so he really couldn't do much harm, but he swung at them, anyway, just barely brushing Murphy's jacket. It took a few more punches from them both for him to settle down while Mbege slid a zip tie around his wrists, pulling it tight. It was always much easier when they were asleep, or at least half way there, because the fight never lasted more than a minute.

“Who the fuck are you?” The guy demanded, pulling at his restraints. “How the fuck did you get in my house?”

“We're Nygel's insurance policy, and I'm very good with locks,” Murphy said, pulling the guy up off the bed.

“Good? You're decent, maybe,” Mbege teased, readjusting his bag, ignoring the swears coming from their guy's mouth. “Still need more practice.”

“I can do it in twenty-two seconds!” Murphy defended. “That's better than you can do!”

Mbege just shrugged and smirked at him, “You're so cute when you're offended.”

“You're such a dick,” Murphy grumbled, shoving the guy towards the door.

“I'm not going anywhere, fuck that!” The man shook his head, digging his heels into the carpet and refusing to go anywhere, “There's no way I'm going to Nygel! You can tell her to fuck off, I don't owe her shit!”

“Obviously you do.” Mbege said, searching around the room. “Or we wouldn't be here.”

“No! It's a mistake! Look, come on, just help me out here! I can help you, too. Let me go and I'll pay you-”

“You can't even pay Nygel, what makes you think we're going to believe you can pay us?” Mbege asked with a huff of a laugh. “We're criminals, not idiots.”

“I can pay you! Trust me, just let me go and I'll get you the mon-” He cut off with a muffled yell, Mbege having shoved a cloth into his mouth.

He tied it around the back of the man's head and sighed, “Look, man, you think being in debt to Nygel's bad, trying being in debt to us.”

“You know, I still think we should throw him out the window. He'd survive, I'm sure. And if not, what's the big deal? His daughter can pay his debt off just fine, I'm sure,” Murphy taunted, giving the man a push towards the window. “What do you think? You wanna see if you can fly?”

The man shook his head violently, his protests muffled by the cloth.

“Then shut the hell up and cooperate with us, okay? You're lucky she wants you alive.” There had been times when Nygel hadn't wanted people brought in alive, and while it wasn't their favorite job, it was considerably easier. Quieter, too.

Mbege shook his head, grinning at the two of them, “I don't think that makes him lucky, Murph.”

 “You're probably right about that,” Murphy agreed. “She might just want to kill you herself. I mean, it would be a good investment. I'm sure your daughter could pay off your debt a lot better than you can. She's got a name, right? Charlotte? Lives with her mom? I don't blame her. Daddy's too busy gambling his money away to take care of her,” He sneered.

He loved riling up the jackasses they brought in, it was his favorite part. Getting to watch them squirm and beg, it almost made him feel bad for them and he needed the guilt, he really did. It reminded him he was still human. If he could feel pity for these scumbags, then he couldn't be that bad, could he? He wasn't a complete monster, not yet. By the time they paid off their debt, he might be, but for now, watching him fight against his gag, presumably begging Murphy not to let Nygel touch his child, Murphy felt a twinge of guilt, just enough to remind him he wasn't entirely like Nygel. Not yet.

He and Mbege did this because they had to, not because they enjoyed it, even if they sometimes did, though they'd never admit it, because the thought scared them to death. In time they'd end up like everyone else who'd worked for Nygel. Dead or worse. Murderers who did it for sport, being tugged around on leashes and set free whenever Nygel wanted to send a message to someone. There was a chance they'd get out, but Murphy didn't hold out much hope for it. This was their reality, and holding onto childish dreams was only going to lead to disappointment. At least, he tried to tell himself that, but it didn't work.

“You done yet? Or did you want to threaten his wife, too? Maybe his dog?” Mbege snapped, but there was no real bite to it. Watching their, well, he didn't like calling them victims, but targets sounded far too action movie-like, watching them struggle and beg always turned his stomach. Murphy had explained once, why he did it, and Mbege understood, but he was worried for him. What happened when Murphy stopped feeling bad? What happened if he desensitized himself to it? It wasn't something he wanted to think about, because if Murphy went the way of Nygel, Mbege could do nothing less than follow, because he needed Murphy as much as Murphy needed him, and the idea that they could one day become just as bad as Nygel made him sick.

They weren't monsters. Criminals, but not monsters. They were just trying to survive, and if they could do that, then all of this was worth it. They would survive this, too, and then they'd be out. Mbege was sure of it. Almost sure of it, anyway.

Murphy stopped, grabbing a hold of the man's shirt and shoving him out the door, not looking up at Mbege as he passed. He knew it wasn't a good thing, he knew none of this was good, but it kept him sane, knowing he could still hate what he was doing. As long as he hated it, he wasn't one of them. As long as he could hate himself, he wasn't a monster. He could still get out one day.

* * *

 

The drive to Nygel's was silent, their guy was in the back, having finally settled down and accepted that there was no way out of it. Nobody said anything, nobody asked any questions, and for the first half of the drive, Murphy stared out his window, watching the streetlights and buildings go by, trying not to think about anything. He wished they could go back to how it was in the beginning, when they were still sickened by the feeling of bones cracking under their fist. When scraped knuckles were treated and bandaged and there was still hope of paying off their debts before they were too old to do anything else.

But they couldn't go back, they could only move forward and try to survive.

Murphy felt Mbege take his hand, intertwining their finger's in Murphy's lap. Murphy gave him a small smile and squeezed his hand gently. “Sorry.”

“Don't be,” Mbege told him. “Let's just- Let's keep their kids out of it, okay? Bit too close to home.”

Murphy nodded and Mbege brought his hand up to his lips, kissing Murphy's knuckles where bruises were already forming, “We'll survive, okay?”

“Hopefully,” Murphy sighed as they pulled in to the warehouse, glaring at the guard that came up to his window.

Nygel would be inside and they'd deliver the man to her and she'd tell them how much more they had to go and then they'd leave and she'd call them the next time she had a job for them, which would be soon, it never took too long, and they'd do it and come back. Rinse and repeat until their debts were paid.

* * *

 

Three hours later, the sun had risen above the city and Mbege's Jeep sat outside their shitty apartment. Takeout containers littered their coffee table, remnants of their supper, or breakfast, depending on how you looked at it.

Murphy sat perched on the couch's armrest, close to Mbege as the morning news droned on quietly. “At this rate we're gonna be doing this for the next ten years.”

“You got other plans?” Mbege asked with a sigh. He hated talking about this, but lately it was all Murphy wanted to talk about. What to do when they got out, whether they would get out. It wouldn't be so bad if he would just come out and admit he was afraid, but he hadn't.

“Not really, but come on, you can't say you like doing this.”

“Weren't you the one who wanted to be Robin Hood when we were kids?”

“That's not what this is, Begs, and you know it. She doesn't give two shits about anyone but herself.” Murphy spat, glaring at the cell phone on the coffee table like it was the cause of all his problems. Maybe it was. It was the phone that Nygel used to let them know what she needed them to do next and sometimes Murphy wished he could smash it into tiny pieces.

“And we do?”

“Not really, but-”

“Look, Murph, deal with your existential crisis after we no longer owe Nygel a hundred grand and we'll talk about it.” All this talk only wore him down. They had bigger problems than what to do when they were out of debt. He was tired and he didn't want to fight over this right now.

“About what?”

“What to do next.”

Murphy perked up at that, “So you do have a plan?”

Mbege frowned, wishing he could tell Murphy something different, but he couldn't. He had about as much of an idea as Murphy did, which was to say, none at all. As much as he believed they would get out, he didn't like thinking about it. Dwelling on what could be made it harder to deal with what was and he wished Murphy wasn't so fixated on it. “No.” He had no plan, only faith that it would happen eventually, but Murphy didn't believe in faith and hope and all those things, he only believed in what he could touch and Mbege knew it was useless to try to explain how he knew they'd get out and be okay.

He sighed and stood up, letting Murphy know that he wanted nothing more to do with the conversation. “I'm going to sleep. You're welcome to join when you've stopped moping”

Murphy shrugged and made a noncommittal noise as Mbege walked away. He was terrified that when this was all over he was going to end up losing him, but he wasn't sure how to say that, and Mbege never wanted to talk about what was going to happen after, and it made Murphy worried that maybe there was no after for them. Maybe once it was over so were they.

He waited, the news playing but he didn't understand any of it, the volume was too low for it to matter, anyway, it was just nice to have something to focus on while he sat there. Once the news shut off, he stood up, picking up the empty take out cartons and throwing them away before heading to the bedroom, stripping down and sliding under the covers.

“I'm sorry,” He whispered, curling up against Mbege. “It's just- I'm not good with this stuff, Begs, and I don't want to lose you, too, and I'm scared that's what's going to happen.”

Mbege wrapped his arms around Murphy, pulling him close, pressing a kiss to the top of his head before telling him, “It'll work out.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course it will. We'll figure something out, I promise.” It would be a while before that happened, but when they needed to, he was sure they'd find something to do with themselves. “There's a whole world of possibilities, we can do just about anything.” Mbege was well aware it wasn't that easy, but they'd manage. They always did.

Murphy relaxed against Mbege, asking jokingly, “Could we get married and raise kids together?”

Mbege snorted and let their foreheads rest against each other, smiling at Murphy, offering sincerely, “We can get married for tax benefits and adopt a cat, would that satisfy you?”

“That's the dream, buddy,” Murphy laughed, letting his eyes drift closed. “Wouldn't want it any other way.” Whether they made it out or not in the end, they were okay right now. They were surviving and that was what mattered. That was all that ever mattered. As long as it was them against the rest of the world, they'd be fine and Murphy smiled to himself, knowing that. If they were together, they'd be okay. It was just how they survived.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feedback is loved. I'm [here](http://assholemurphy.tumblr.com/)


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